cabinpres_fic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cabinpres_fic) wrote2012-05-29 05:28 am
cabinpres_fic) wrote2012-05-29 05:28 am
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Prompting Post V
Please see the most recent MOD NOTE and ADDENDUM
(updated 5 July)
Welcome everybody. How you got here I have no idea but thank you for coming and welcome again, nonetheless . As you may have gathered this is a Fic Prompting Meme dedicated solely to the hilarious and oh-so-addictive BBC Radio 4 sitcom - Cabin Pressure. I'm aiming for this to be pretty anything goes - but in order for everything to run smoothly, there are a few guidelines. Don't worry - they're not too restrictive.
FILLING GUIDELINES
As you probably all know - our meme now has it's very own database created and maintained by the great Enigel. It both catalogues each and every prompt that we post and provides links to fills. You can find it here: Google Spreadsheet
We also have a Pinboard archive which has been put in place by the lovely
oxfordtweed in the place of our late Delicious Archive. This Archive contains a list of all the prompts this meme has to offer - you can find it here: Pinboard ArchiveThis is a great step forward in making our meme just a little more organised (but not too organised of course. This is Cabin Pressure) which is always a good thing.
So in order to make things easier to archive - Please nest your fills.
This can be done by either posting each part as a reply to that part's immediate predecessor, OR by replying each time to Part I OR - well you get the idea :D
It makes it simpler for Enigel and myself to link fills in a clean and clear manner. Following these guildelines will be very much appreciated guys :D
REPROMPTING
Reprompting is allowed but please include the URL of the original prompt when you do so. It will make it infinitely more easy to Archive which would make both Enigel and I very happy :)
As for everything else
- Be respectful to one another. Disagreements are fine, but not everything disagreeable is trolling. If you suspect someone of trolling, just ignore it. If you cannot respond to a comment without attacking or trolling someone else, keep it to yourself.
- No bashing prompts. It might not be your cup of tea - but obviously someone wants it enough to go to the effort of requesting it. So just scroll past it.
- Prompt away as much as you like guys - seriously, go wild - but please try to fill as well.
- Please no RPF. I'm not trying to oppress you RPF writers and enthusiasts, I would just really like to avoid any legal problems.
- When you post a fill (or post a new part of a WIP) please go over to the Filled Prompts Post (if it is complete) or the WIP Post (if there are still more parts to come) and, following each post's guideline's, post a link to this fill or new part.
NEW - If your fill includes a major element that veers from the original prompt (crossovers, established universes, kinks, et cetera), please take a few moments to check with the OP that such additions are welcome. This has caused problems in the past and it only takes a few moments of your time.
REALLY IMPORTANT ADDENDUM
According to numerous Child Safety laws it is illegal to provide pornographic material to minors. Seeing that the majority of the stuff we have here is rather adult in nature, this Meme is consequently an 18+ zone. Failing to comply to this rule could result in the Meme getting shut down. So if you're here and you're under 18 please back button now.
+ Please do not post anything regarding minors in a sexual situation. It really doesn't matter how tasteful or crass it is, there are laws that classify that sort of thing as child pornography and as such, I'm afraid we're going to have to go with the attitude that safe is better than sorry.
It really is VERY important that these rules are upheld as the consequences are severe.
Other than that - go crazy guys. Any problems please just message me and I'll try my best to work it out.
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Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (2/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 01:11 pm (UTC)(link)Besides, Douglas rather likes being on board Gertie. It's not as if he has much else to do with his time, since he's more than aware his wife is cheating on him and he doesn't have much desire to be at home just so she can lie to him about it some more. At least on the plane he has a captive audience. He tells Martin as such one particularly dreary afternoon and the ground proximity warning glows dimly in response, even though the engine is off and the keys are hanging up somewhere in the Portacabin.
The ghost mostly ignores the offered scraps of paper, interested only in obsessively stacking them into neat piles in cubby holes and lockers. Otherwise he seems largely content just to listen to Douglas talk, and on that score Douglas is always more than willing to oblige. As the year progresses he tells it about his brother, his ex-wives, even about his daughter occasionally. He finds himself saying all sorts of things he doesn't usually admit to; like how whiskey and cold tea are interchangeable and why it's his fault Air England now have a uniform policy relating to contraband kimonos.
If, in return, Douglas finds that the in-flight cheeses mysteriously unwrap themselves and that the vodka inexplicably gets switched out for water after particularly bad flights, he generally makes a point not to mention it.
Through it all though, there is one thing Douglas is still quite burning to know.
"Why are you still here, Martin?" he asks eventually. They're grounded in Spain at the time, a faulty piece of landing gear stranding them until a mechanic can be roused from his siesta. "Why haven't you moved on?"
Douglas gets the vague impression of a shrug in reply, a faintly helpless gesture, and the echo of a slim, pale hand wrapping protectively around Gertie's control column.
It's the most tangible evidence of him Douglas has ever seen and he wonders if this -just the mere act of acknowledging him- is really enough to have made such a remarkable difference.
---
They're in the middle of taking a series of single-pilot cargo hops across Russia when Gertie's starboard engine falls afoul of a rather large goose. The crunching shake of an exploding jet rattles the old girl to her core and the unexpected force of it knocks Douglas sideways in his chair hard enough to crack his head unpleasantly against the centre console. His vision sparks white from the sharp-edged pain of it and, for once, when the warning lights on the control panel light up like Christmas, Douglas knows it has absolutely nothing to do with Martin interfering.
He winces at the splitting ache in his skull as he radios a Mayday to St Petersburg. His hands on the control column are clenched so tightly his fingers are white from the pressure and he wrestles desperately to keep the aircraft stable despite the dizziness blurring his vision.
The cross-winds are hideous, sharp gusts buffeting the beleaguered craft and jerking her around uncontrollably, the force of it rattling Gertie's frame hard enough to send loose glassware and plates crashing to the floor in the galley. At the noise Martin moves so fast Douglas barely even sees him leave, his form darting through the cockpit door and back into the main part of the fuselage. He shoots back again moments later, circling frantically, his agitated swirling making the already illuminated warning lights spark and sizzle.
Douglas grits his teeth, hanging on grimly as another sharp gust of wind makes Gertie dip and wobble. The force of it bruises Douglas to his very bones, his grip too tight on the yoke to risk probing at the throbbing lump on his skull. He can feel something itchy and wet oozing down the side of his head, his vision doubling and blurring as he squints at the readings. There's a grey mist invading the edge of his vision, bright flares of pain momentarily blinding him as the wind shakes them around.
And then... then suddenly he is cold. He's really very cold, the shock of it bone-deep like the spasm that follows plunging head-first into ice water. It's a sharp, swelling sensation, an unnatural chill shooting out down his arms and into his fingertips, winter frost shivering in his lungs until Douglas can see his breath forming faint whispers of steam in front of him. He feels the yoke lighten in his grasp, the craft stabilising, and his vision doubles as the very faintest whisper echoes distantly in the back of his head. The voice crackles, tinny and distorted like a radio playing in another room.
"I have control."
---
Douglas does not remember landing the plane.
He remembers Gertie landing, of course he does, though his vision was blurry and his head bleeding quite profusely down into his shirt collar. But his hands on the controls had played no part in actually guiding their movement.
What Douglas remembers is the translucent, sharpening form of an emaciated, determined-looking young man growing ever more visible in his lap. He remembers it sitting on him -in him- sharing the same space, the same controls, but jumping in and out of focus like a TV with a faulty aerial.
He remembers the bump of the landing gear hitting the tarmac, the drag of the brakes engaging, the boy's body sagging and dimming as they finally ground to a halt on the frozen Russian soil. Martin's chest had been heaving as if the effort had hurt him, pale fingers clutching surprisingly hard at Douglas's wrist for a moment as if pleading him to resume command. Douglas had felt the yoke growing heavy in his grip once more, control ceded as Martin had shimmered and slumped, fading down and losing form ever faster as if his energy had been entirely drained by his actions. Martin had almost seemed to dissolve then, shrinking until he was barely a wisp of presence. He'd glimmered for a moment, red-orange in the winter sun, fragile and beautiful before vanishing entirely.
---
"Great landing, Douglas," Arthur says to him later.
They're sitting in the first aid area of St Petersburg airport. Douglas has an ice pack pressed to his pounding head and a faintly useless diagnosis of concussion.
"Mm," he murmurs thoughtfully. "It wasn't bad, was it."
And that's the thing, he realises. It wasn't bad at all. In fact it was almost text-book perfect.
"Just who did Gertie belong to before Carolyn got hold of her?" Douglas asks.
Arthur shrugs. "Well, Dad I suppose. I don't know where he got her. The factory, probably."
"Hmm." Douglas lets the matter drop, peeling the ice pack away gingerly. He knows he'll have a fabulous lump there by morning, but at least it finally seems to have stopped bleeding.
Carolyn takes that moment to finally make an appearance, her expression turning grim as she sees the blood staining Douglas's shirt.
The news she brings with her is even grimmer.
---
It's dark in St Petersburg by the time Douglas gets away from Carolyn and Arthur. It's cold, too, and Douglas still has a pounding headache, but it's the first opportunity he's had to properly go and check on the plane since landing. He'd left Arthur in a flurry of Toblerone-related panic and Carolyn rather grudgingly calling her ex-husband, but he feels more than somewhat obliged to make his way over to the hangar where Gertie's battered carcass is waiting, and deal with his own rather unofficial fourth member of the crew.
He lets himself into the darkened cockpit, wrapping his coat around himself and staring rather blankly out of the window.
The plane is cold and the hangar dark, the cabin devoid of the familiar crackle of Martin's presence and Douglas sighs, head in his hands as disappointment tries to swell in the back of his throat. He has the horrible feeling that if he lets it, it will choke him.
"Just who the hell are you, Martin?" Douglas whispers. "I know you're still in here somewhere." He waits for a moment, hoping for a reply though none seems forthcoming. He purses his lips in frustration before continuing.
"I don't know how you did it, but it was you who landed us today, Martin, not me. You saved our lives. Carolyn thinks I did it, she has no idea what really happened, nor would she believe me if I told her but... Damnit, Martin I am grateful. I truly am. And it would be unfair not to let to know-"
Douglas swallows thickly. "We can't afford to fix the engine. We just don't have the money for it. Carolyn's talking to Gordon right now and if she sells the plane back to him I rather suspect he's going to take you with it."
Douglas pauses, blowing on his hands to warm them before rubbing them together for the meagre heat it offers.
"I don't know if you can hear me, Martin. I hope you can. But just in case I don't get another chance... that landing was as good as any Captain I've ever worked with. I don't know how you ended up stuck here, I don't even know your full name, but whoever you once were it's been an honour to have flown with you." Douglas clenches his fingers, curling them into pale, chilled fists. "I am loathe to get sentimental but if Gordon takes this plane from us it's not Gertie I'm going to miss. It's you."
Douglas closes his eyes for a moment, mouth pulled into a grim line as he cocks one ear towards the empty side of the cabin, listening intently in the hope of a reply. The silence stretches on around him, five minutes turning into ten before he finally sighs in resignation. Douglas can't resist running a faintly trembling hand over the familiar buttons of Gertie's darkened controls before he heaves himself to his feet and, shoulders slumping, heads back out in the freezing chill of the midwinter gloom.
Unseen as Douglas turns to make his exit, half hidden under the scattered paper debris dislodged during the landing, the depressurisation warning light gutters weakly, then goes out.
Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 01:11 pm (UTC)(link)As it is, he bolts awake barely two hours after they make it to their hotel for the night, a curse on his lips as he rolls out of bed to shake Carolyn from her slumber, a sick ache of stupid, stupid, stupid roiling in his stomach.
Gordon is going to steal the plane. That's what had taken his engineers so long. They'd been fitting a new engine and by the time they make it back to the airport Gertie will be long gone and MJN will be both bankrupt and stranded in bloody Russia.
Douglas curses himself for missing it, on edge and infuriated with himself for every second of the frantic taxi ride back to the hangar, a sleepily nodding Arthur falling sideways against his shoulder in the cramped back seat. He curses himself again as the wide open hangar doors yawn into view before them, and he curses himself as-
...as they find Gertie exactly where they left her.
Douglas stumbles to a halt, Carolyn's mouth opening in slack surprise at the sight before them. The plane's cabin door is open, a brand-new engine tucked under the wing exactly as Douglas had predicted and, just audible inside the cockpit, Gordon Shappey is yelling his head off.
Douglas is the first to respond, bolting up the cabin stairs and through the half-destroyed galley to pound his fist hard against the locked control room door.
"Gordon!" he shouts. "Open up!"
"I can't!" comes the shrieking reply. "It's jammed. Get me the bloody hell out of here!"
As if on cue the lock springs, the mechanism pinging open from within and a white-faced Gordon tumbles through, virtually falling into Douglas's outstretched arms in his haste to get away.
"What the hell is going on?" Carolyn barks. Her brows have drawn down into a fierce scowl, hands planted firmly on her hips as she stands barring the exit from the galley. Gordon flails against Douglas's hold, his eyes wide and manic, grey hair flecked with tiny, wadded up bits of notebook paper. The creases in his clothes seem to be shedding them, and there is a smeared row of what look like spitballs clinging tenaciously to the back of his neck.
"Your bloody plane, Carro!" Gordon yells at her. "You keep it! I don't want it! It's bloody Poltergeist in there!"
"What on earth are you rambling about?" Carolyn snaps at him. "And why are you covered in paper? I swear you you, Gordon Shappey, if you have damaged my plane-"
"Damaged it?" Gordon chokes. He starts laughing then, shrill and hysterical, wiggling out of Douglas's grasp to land hard on the galley floor. His hands scuff through the broken pottery that still hasn't been swept up and, as Carolyn turns her back for a moment to hunt for her mobile phone, a handful of paper balls come flying out of the empty cockpit to pelt Gordon repeatedly across the ear.
Douglas casts a worried look at Carolyn before grabbing the still-hysterical Gordon under the arms and hauling him to his feet. He drags the struggling man firmly through the cabin, pausing at the top of the steps only long enough to shove him out the door.
Gordon seemes to give up the fight as he stumbles down the passenger stairs, coming to rest at the bottom with a dazed, sour look on his face.
"You stay off my jet, Gordon," Carolyn snarls at him. "Be assured I will be calling the police if you ever dare darken my door again."
Gordon shakes himself, staggering backwards on unsteady feet as he hedges away from the gently curved bulk of Gertie's fuselage.
"Oh, she's yours alright," Gordon manages. "Yours with your bloody flying paper and other spooky claptrap. Not that you're going anywhere with the console dead like it is. Why do you think I was stuck in there so long, eh, Carro? If the bloody radio worked I'd have been out of it hours ago!"
As if in reply every light in Gertie's body suddenly flares into brilliance, the slow hum of the engines beginning to turn of their own volition drowning out Gordon's bellow of alarm as he turns achingly white and stumblingly flees into the night-time snow outside.
Carolyn can only stand there, blank-faced with confusion as, once Godron is out of sight, the lights dim once again, the engines gently rolling to a halt as if they had never even moved to begin with.
"Douglas," she says very quietly. "I want you to use very tiny words and tell me what, exactly, just happened?"
"Martin," Douglas murmurs.
"Who?" Carolyn asks sharply.
Douglas shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. Just... go and see if Arthur's alright, he was still asleep in the back of the taxi when we left."
"Oh, God," Carolyn says. "Maybe if we're lucky the driver took him in lieu of payment..."
Douglas waves his hand at her irritably, disappearing back through the cockpit door and closing it very gently behind himself. Because in there, amid the snowdrift of wadded up paper balls, is Martin. He is sprawled limply, face-down over the the control panel, arms spread wide as if he's been straining to cover the full width of it. But even though he looks utterly exhausted Douglas has never, ever seen him so clearly.
He is small and pale as Douglas had always suspected, bright auburn hair still transparent enough to leave the switches beneath his head visible and Douglas swallows hard at the sight of him. He is so very thin, still dressed in the striped t-shirt and flared jeans of the early Seventies, a pair of battered blue plimsolls on his long, bony feet. The very tips of his toes seem to disappear into the carpet and Douglas steps closer a little hesitantly.
"Martin?" he says. "Martin, are you alright?"
There's a faint hitch from the figure over the console, one wide, grey eye sliding open just enough to fix on Douglas's face. Martin blinks at him slowly, an exhausted but joyous smile gradually creeping across his expressive, pink lips.
"I flew her, Douglas," Martin says faintly. "I finally managed to make her fly."
"Yes. Yes you did," Douglas chokes. He can feel his legs giving out on him and he slumps heavily into the Captain's chair, a sense of sinking dread settling into his stomach as Martin's fingertips begin to shimmer. "And you saved her, too."
Martin raises his head tiredly, eyes darting a brief look at Douglas before they seem to fix on something far outside Gertie's windscreen.
"Oh," Martin breathes. His expression slackens, eyes glittering with awe although quite at what Douglas can't seem to see. "Oh, it's beautiful, Douglas..."
"Good," Douglas says. He struggles for a moment, the silence weighing in far too hard. "I... I'm glad. I always hoped it was." He swallows around the burning thickness that seems to have lodged in his throat. He recognises the signs and he can't stop the aching sense of loss that flares up in his own heart. Martin is slipping out of his grasp, finally moving on, and for the first time he can remember Douglas absolutely hates it.
Martin's eyes seem to slide closed just as his edges begin softening, billowing out like fine sand blown from the edge of a dune.
"Martin?" Douglas asks. "One more thing before you go. What was your last name?"
"Crieff," Martin says dreamily. "Martin Crieff." He ripples then, hazing out of focus even as his smile starts to widen, and the look on his face is one of such unadulterated joy that Douglas can't quite seem to resent him that happiness, even as his own breath stutters, his lungs growing hard like stone in the cavity of his chest.
He opens his mouth, a last farewell on his lips but before he can even draw breath for it Martin is gone, the faint glow of his outline lingering like an echo of the sun before the night-time shadows creep in to cover it. Its absence feels almost painfully like a vacuum, the cockpit left dark in his wake, unnaturally silent except for the rasping choke of Douglas's shuddering breath.
---
"You seem awfully quiet today, Douglas," Arthur says. He balances a fresh cup of coffee by Douglas's hand, the low, steady thrum of the engines the only sound breaking the heavy tedium inside the cabin.
They'd been grounded in St Petersburg until the medics had cleared Douglas to fly again, but even with the promise of finally being able to return home Douglas has to admit that his enthusiasm for the journey is not quite what it would usually be. If he's honest, he misses Martin. The flight deck is rather dull without his silent companion hovering somewhere in the corner of his eye.
Of course in the week and a half Douglas has been stuck in Russia nursing his concussion he's also had plenty of time to Google. Trawling obituaries from almost forty years ago certainly hadn't been easy, simply by dint of a chronic lack of digitised records, but a combination of bloody-minded determination and absolute crushing boredom did finally trawl up a clipping from the Wokingham Gazette's online archive.
It had been an article from the June of 1974, a short local news piece about a hit and run fatality involving a young man named Martin Crieff. He'd been watching the arrival of the first British-owned Lockheed McDonnell 3-12 as it came in to land at Woodley Airfield, when a stolen car had careened off the road and crushed him against the chain link perimeter fence. The car had been abandoned at the scene, the driver never caught, and Martin had died of his injuries hours before anyone found him.
The thought of that blazing summer, of dying so slowly and so senselessly in the lazy, droughted heat of it, still makes Douglas more than faintly nauseous. In the sullen silence of the cockpit he does his very best not to think about it, though the the image nags at him like a scab demanding to be picked.
It takes them several days to get back to Fitton. With Douglas their only pilot they are obliged to make frequent rest stops and by the time they land they are all more than glad to see the back of each other. Douglas slinks home somewhat dejectedly, aching with a loss he can't quite put a name to without making himself sound crazy. The flat he moved into after Helena's divorce is cold and a little musty, the fridge empty aside from the dregs of some rancid milk and the remains of a bottle of apple juice which seems to have grown an exciting layer of fuzz in his absence.
Douglas sighs in defeat and dials for a take-away, contemplating the futility of the gesture even as he does it. He's hungry but the desire to eat seems somewhat absent and he flops down exhaustedly in front of the TV, nodding off long before his dinner ever arrives.
---
In a corner of the far hanger at Fitton Airfield, Gertie stands quietly amid the light aircraft that populate the majority of the cavernous space. Locked up for the night as she is, everything should be perfectly dark and still inside, but in the centre of her console, just under the stain left by Arthur's Fizzy Yoghurt, her ground proximity warning light is flickering.
It's faint at first, a tiny blue spark snapping loudly in the silence as wavering currents leak unsteadily through the filament. The light dims and ebbs, almost extinguishing itself completely several times until with a sudden surge it brightens, the little bulb pulsing strongly from within. The unexpected heat of it releases the faint waft of singed plastic into the air and the light seems to blink apologetically, the intensity dropping by gradual increments until it finally levels out into the comfortable, steady brightness of a familiar orange glow.
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 03:33 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
I was determined not to read this what with Martin's death and all and then I started and of course I couldn't stop, not even when I had to cry in those moving scenes when Douglas talks to his ghost. You did that amazongly touching and I loved it. How Martin gave all of himself to save the Gertie and urs crew and how deeply affected Douglas was and how it all evolved around my fave ep anyway!! God, all the feels!
Loved the end too, loved the hope about it and I hope it's okay that I think they'll meet again.
Wonderfully done and heart-achingly as well!
Thank you for sharing.
*sobs some more*
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 04:01 pm (UTC)(link)Authanon: Absolutely! Personally in my head it actually ends with Martin happily spinning around Gertie's freshly-fixed galley and admiring his new uniform. (And sitting in the Captain's chair in readiness just to reeeeeeeally freak out Douglas.)
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
Now I love it even more :)
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 05:01 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 06:21 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 06:56 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 07:07 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 07:48 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3)
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3)
(Anonymous) 2012-07-18 10:13 pm (UTC)(link)I don't think there's much that could keep Martin away for long.
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-19 11:51 am (UTC)(link)The idea of Martin obsessively stacking the papers up neatly is too adorable, as is he defending Gertie from the likes of Gordon with his pile of paper balls. I love you so much about right now. <33333
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-19 12:00 pm (UTC)(link)You know I could never leave the ending too tragic. Even as a ghost you know Martin would be at his happiest when flying. ;)
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-20 15:55 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) - 2012-07-20 16:42 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-19 06:12 pm (UTC)(link)Please archive it somewhere: it needs to be read and recced forever and ever!
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-19 08:07 pm (UTC)(link)Thank you!
It'll end up on AO3 at some point, I just haven't had a moment to tidy it up yet. But it will get there eventually, I promise. ;)
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-22 04:45 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat
(Anonymous) 2012-07-22 08:23 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) Authanon
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) Authanon
Psst, the link doesn't work. Found it with the title easily though.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/465825
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) Authanon
Re: Fill #2 : In Memory Of Flight (3/3) - Contains de-facto character deat